


Sundays are for Cinnamon Rolls

by WritingCreatingStorytelling



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingCreatingStorytelling/pseuds/WritingCreatingStorytelling
Summary: Sundays are for cinnamon rolls.It’s something sort of magical, Chris muses, experiencing it for the first time.





	Sundays are for Cinnamon Rolls

Sundays are for cinnamon rolls.

It’s something sort of magical, Chris muses, experiencing it for the first time. Your flat fills with a warm, sugary aroma, waking him from the most peaceful sleep of his life, and the soft hums of your singing drift to the bedroom from where you undoubtedly stand by the oven. His heart is just about to explode.

A few short minutes later, when he finally finds motivation to leave your comfortable bed, Chris rolls himself to his feet and goes searching for you. There’s a flip-flop production going on in his tummy as his bare feet pad across the floorboards; he names it giddiness. He’s always so damned _giddy_ to see you.

As suspected, he finds you bent over in front of the oven, sliding out a baking sheet before placing it on the stovetop with care. He smiles. You’re a strong, fierce woman, yet you have this way of handling everything with a gentleness he’s never seen before. He admires you for it, along with many other fascinating things he’s learned about you.

“If you’re trying to sneak up on me, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

Chris chuckles. He shuffles his feet forward, eager to cradle you in his arms. “I could never be disappointed when I still get to do,” he waits until he’s finally able to bury his nose in your hair, arms circling around you, to finish, “this.”

“Hm…” You hum, leaning back on his firm chest. “This is rather nice.” You allow yourself another minute of heaven, sighing in content while Chris tightens his hold on you and nuzzles his face in your tresses. But you remind yourself you only have a short amount of time left before your next buzzer goes off. (You have this cinnamon roll process down to a science – the first batch of rolls that’d been set aside before his appearance will be in need of frosting in exactly two minutes and 24 seconds, or it just won’t melt over right.)

“I gotta get this pan washed before the timer goes off,” you whine, pulling out of his sweet embrace before dashing towards the sink to start filling it up with hot water. You giggle at his echoing whines. “I know, but this is the batch that I’m taking to work tomorrow. I can’t have Molly make an offhand comment to piss me off.”

You can practically hear Chris’s lips tilt into a smile, and when you peek over at him, it’s evident that he’s trying to bite back a laugh. You roll your eyes, albeit giggling at how ridiculous it all sounds.

“So, tell Judge-y Molly to suck it.”

You open your mouth to reply, but your retort gets lost when you catch him sneaking one of the baked doughy treats. “Hey!” You exclaim.

“What?” He asks, trying to play off his innocence. It doesn’t work. Not when he takes a gigantic bite and makes a show out of chewing, all the while staring daringly at you.

You lose it, your eyes enlarging before your amusement roars out of you, tears spilling over your cheeks as you clutch your aching stomach.

Bemusement sparkles in Chris’s eyes. “Wuh?” He asks again, chuckling around what he’s apparently declared as his breakfast. “Wuh-th tho funneh?”

His muffled speech does nothing but escalate your booming laughter. You find that it no longer perturbs you that you’re starting to snort from the lack of air; Chris likes to point out he finds it adorable, anyway.

“You’re the worst cinnamon roll to ever cinnamon roll,” you manage to say after a minute, wiping at your eyes and sucking in air to revive your depleted lungs.

And, really, it should be disgusting how proud of himself he looks, but you can’t help but love him more. Even while he’s being the worst cinnamon roll.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading xx


End file.
